


Sick

by myhamsterisademon



Series: Tumblr Works [8]
Category: Le Comte de Monte-Cristo | Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, I'm Bad At Titles, Kinda, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Sick Character, Tumblr Prompt, bless him, franz is an angel, not rome, they're in florence here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-28 14:57:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13906443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myhamsterisademon/pseuds/myhamsterisademon
Summary: Fromthisprompt





	Sick

Franz had been in that carriage for barely a quarter-of-hour and yet, he was already growing slightly worried. He did not know where the Count’s carriage was taking him, but he was not afraid for himself. He had brought two pistols, although he dimly felt that they were unnecessary and, would Monte-Cristo take notice of them – he would surely feel offended. After all, he had shown nothing but kindness to Franz and Albert.

And, indeed, it was for Albert that the Baron feared: he had been occupied with reading some ancient texts in Florence’s biggest library when he received a message from the Count asking him to “ _mount into the carriage and come quickly, for I fear that the young Viscount de Morcerf needs your presence forthwith. Worry not – he is in no danger of death, but I am fairly certain that your being there would ease his discomfort.”_

Thus, the Baron d’Epinay had obeyed. 

Finally, they arrived at the Count’s hotel and Franz could breathe more freely. He left the carriage, the pistols now forgotten, ignoring Bertuccio’s pleading and immediately walking up the stairs. He did not waste time in formalities, like waiting for the Count’s valet, and directly knocked on the door, opening it by himself.

He entered the large, sumptuous salon and noticed Monte-Cristo’s figure standing besides a long sofa.

“Hello,” the Count said, walking towards Franz. He did not stretch his hand, so the Baron didn’t either. “I am glad you have come so fast, although you should not have nearly killed yourself. Please, do take a seat.”

“Thank you,” Franz replied, noticing only now that he was slightly breathless, “I would rather see the Viscount first, if you do not mind.”

“Ah,” was the answer, “yes, I am afraid our young friend might be sick. Come, he is laying over there on the couch.”

Franz, at first, did not register that Monte-Cristo had called Albert  _their young friend_ and, when he did, he was otherwise occupied. He crouched in front of Albert, who was resting on the sofa the Count had been standing to. 

The lad’s brow was slick with sweat, warm and feverish, his eyes closed as if he were sleeping – but, if he was, it was no peaceful slumber. He was trembling and breathing heavily. Franz felt a sharp pang of sadness and worry. 

He sighed and his lips brushed Albert’s forehead, his hand cupping the young man’s jaw and caressing his cheekbones. Franz was dimly aware of the Count’s piercing eyes on him, but not at all caring of them; he bowed his head to kiss Albert’s temple, then his cheek. 

“Oh, my dear,” he murmured, so low that only Albert could have heard him. “What happened?” he asked then, louder, twisting his head to face his host.

The Count was gazing at him, a curious light in his eyes. He looked something between appalled and fascinated, and Franz unconsciously clenched his fists.

“I found him drinking by a fountain,” the Count then said, talking slowly, still staring, “he seemed tired and out of breath. I invited him to rest in my apartment, since the one you both share was too far a walk, and he accepted. As soon as he was in, he almost fainted. I called for you the moment he asked,” he added a second later.

“Thank you,” Franz said again, trying to control his voice to maintain it even. For some reason he could not explain to himself, he felt deeply troubled by Monte-Cristo’s closeness. “That was exceedingly kind of you. I will have to ask you one more favour, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

The Count bowed courteously and waited for Franz to finish.

“I think it would be better if Albert – if the Viscount were carried to our place. As much as your apartment is comfortable and exquisite, I am sure a familiar background would suit him better.”

“Of course,” the older man replied. “You know him better than I do. My carriage was at your service in the Eternal City, and it is still here in the City of Poets.”

Franz smiled briefly and his attention was soon directed to Albert again. 

“You care for young de Morcerf a lot,” the Count said a couple of minutes later. His voice had some strange tone, something like surprise and almost disdain –as if he found the idea of loving a fellow man absurd. 

“Of course I do,” the Baron replied. “He is my friend.”

“Oh please,” Monte-Cristo said, in a quiet, strangely gentle scoff. “Let us not lie to each other, Baron. I have seen the way you look at the Viscount. Nothing, in your interactions, is simply friendly or” – he hesitated – “platonic.”

Franz, for a moment, was too surprised to breathe. Then, when his lungs started to burn, when his heart started to hammer in his chest – only then, he drew up his eyes to stare at the Count. This latter was gazing at him, his hands knitted behind his back, a knowing, almost indulgent smile on his lips.

“I –” Franz stammered. He gulped down and became aware that his mouth was unnaturally dry.

“You needn’t to worry,” the older man softly interrupted. “Who you lay with is not my affair, Baron. I have far more important things to care about than the whims of two men young enough to be my sons.”

“It isn’t a whim,” d’Epinay automatically retorted, still too taken aback to think properly. “We –”

“Besides,” the Count continued, “we have shared far more than a simple meal, that evening you spent on my island. I should think that discussing of your most hidden desires, of your most secret sensual wants, of your most concealed appetites is not shameful to you anymore.”

It was the first time the man referred to their encounter on the island that bore his same name, and Franz felt himself go pale.

“Count,” he stuttered, “I –”

He was interrupted by the sound of Albert shifting. Franz looked down and, when their eyes met, Albert grinned weakly and croaked:

“You are here.”

“Of course I am,” Franz muttered, his heart still beating fast – but calming down, now that the Count was no more looking at him as if he was reading into his soul. “I had found the most interesting historical account when I received the Count's message alerting me of your sickness. My revenge will be to sit by your side all day and make you listen to it. You will be bored to death and beg me to let you go.”

“It will be a most exquisite torture, then,” Albert answered, still the cheeky, irreverent boy he would always be.

 

Three hours later, Albert was in bed, nearly asleep and still sick – but peaceful now, for Franz was resting by his side, quietly reading to him and feeding him fresh, orange-perfumed water and delicate, light fruits.

The Baron lifted up his eyes and gloomily started at the pistols he had forgotten in the Count’s carriage and that now were laying on the table. A piece of paper was with them.

_“I hope that, the next time we meet, you won’t deem it necessary to arm yourself, dear Baron._

_Your sincere and affectionate friend,_

_Count of Monte-Cristo”_

**Author's Note:**

> From [this](https://monte-cristo-incorrect-quotes.tumblr.com/post/171161254222/may-you-please-do-the-fifth-one-down-the-drunk) prompt


End file.
